


i'm good enough, i'm fine

by notspring



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Guilt, Lack of Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/pseuds/notspring
Summary: It was better before Seungcheol felt so guilty about it, but Seungcheol feels guilty all the time now, about everything. This is just another item on a long, long list.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups & Yoon Jeonghan, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Jeon Wonwoo
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	i'm good enough, i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place mostly just before / during the ode to you tour, in case the timeline is unclear!

  
  
It was better before Seungcheol felt so guilty about it, but Seungcheol feels guilty all the time now, about everything. This is just another item on a long, long list. 

Wonwoo’s as quiet about this as he is everywhere else, silent except for his breathing, heavy and unmistakeable. A few muffled gasps, and the occasional whimper. He isn’t the only person Seungcheol’s done this with, but he’s the one Seungcheol’s done it with the most. Seungcheol’s doesn’t know anybody else’s body the way he knows Wonwoo’s, which makes him feel weird if he lets himself think about it too much. Usually he doesn’t. 

It used to feel good, he remembers. He’s pretty sure this used to be fun. 

“Hyung,” Wonwoo says afterward, not meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. He’s still not wearing a shirt, and he fidgets with his hands as he speaks, posture uncomfortable as always. Wonwoo’s so handsome, but he’s never quite figured out what to do with it. 

“Hyung,” Wonwoo says again. “I think we should stop.”

Seungcheol freezes as that sinks in, lets it wash over him slowly. 

“Oh,” he croaks out, lost. The self-hatred is almost immediate, the thoughts so predictable it’s almost funny. Did he do something wrong? Does Wonwoo hate him now? Did Seungcheol ruin everything? Is the group going to find out?

Is this going to be the last straw, the thing that makes the group finally realize he’s a fraud? If it is, Seungcheol feels like he’s been waiting for it forever, and by now he’s so exhausted it’s almost welcome. 

“It’s just,” Wonwoo says hurriedly. “We’re so busy now, with the tour coming up. I think we should keep our heads clear.”

He thinks they shouldn’t risk getting caught, or putting the rest of the group in jeopardy. Seungcheol can read between the lines. 

“You’re right,” Seungcheol says, clearing his throat, forcing his mouth into a tight smile. 

Wonwoo _is_ right, is the thing. They both know he’s right. He shouldn’t have been the one to have to say it, either. Seungcheol’s the hyung, and the leader. He should have taken responsibility from the start.

It's embarrassing, that Wonwoo has to end it for him. Seungcheol's supposed to be the one who leads.

There’s no reason for it to feel personal like this, but then Seungcheol’s always been too soft for his own good — it’s one of Jeonghan’s favourite reasons to tease him. 

He laughs about it, usually. He isn’t laughing now. 

Seungcheol doesn’t remember where they were, the first time. He thinks it must have just been hip-hop unit — filming something, maybe? A photoshoot? Their schedule is so packed that Seungcheol has trouble remembering what he did last week, so it’s not really a surprise that the details of something that happened over a year ago are lost to him.

He feels bad about it, still, though. He feels bad about all of it. 

Wonwoo had been alone, that much he knows. It was cold, and Wonwoo was hunched over his knees, hands clutched around a hot pack. He was laughing about something, though, when Seungcheol came closer to make sure he was okay. 

Seungcheol had ruffled his hair, smiling down at him, and Wonwoo’s laughter faded into a crooked smile, all his focus on Seungcheol. 

Seungcheol doesn’t know what made him do it. He and Wonwoo haven’t ever been particularly close, and he’d never considered it before. But there was something about the way Wonwoo was looking up at him, eyes warm, mouth twisted in that little smile. It made Seungcheol want to get closer, so he did. It made him want to do something about it, so he did that too. 

He meant it to be cute, he thinks, something a doting hyung would do. A silly little peck on the cheek. 

He’d gotten Wonwoo’s mouth, instead, and in the confusion of the moment Wonwoo hadn’t pulled away. Seungcheol hadn’t either, even after it caught up with him. Their mouths had slid together instead, opening almost immediately, too intense for them to play it off as casual, or a joke. 

Seungcheol remembers that part clearly. The brush of Wonwoo’s tongue against his, the way it the kiss had turned into something — not dirty, exactly, but definitely something with potential. When Seungcheol had pulled back the look on Wonwoo’s face was different. Eyes heavy, mouth already turning red. It made something needy flare in Seungcheol’s gut, unexpected and urgent. 

He should have apologized, probably. Should have promised right away that it wouldn’t happen again. 

“Was that okay,” he’d asked, instead. Wonwoo had nodded, still looking a little dazed, and from then it was only a matter of time until it happened again. 

The rest of the day passes in a haze, Seungcheol’s anxiety so thick it feels like everything is happening at the wrong speed — either too fast or too slow, his movements too jerky. In the practice room he drops his phone three times in a row, watches it slip out of his fingers every time. He tries to laugh it off, but judging by Minghao’s concerned look he doesn’t really manage it. 

Not surprising — Seungcheol doesn’t feel like he’s managing much of anything. 

He should be used to this by now. The feeling of knowing he’s done something terrible, waiting for the inevitable fallout. Somehow it makes him feel sick every time. 

It didn’t feel bad, at first. It was nice to have something to look forward to. The way Seungcheol felt when Wonwoo looked at him and smiled, just the corner of his mouth curling upward — it was only Seungcheol’s, and that felt good. 

They couldn’t really do anything about it at first, anyway. Seungcheol shared his bedroom and Wonwoo didn’t even have one, so their options were pretty much limited to the dorm bathroom or their workplace — both distinct mood killers, albeit in very different ways. 

So it was still fun when it was just the idea of it, not the real thing. The memory of Wonwoo’s mouth on his, and the vague thrill of anticipation that maybe some day it could happen again.

The opportunity came when they were travelling, the pieces aligning so perfectly it felt like the choice was out of Seungcheol’s hands. Hotel rooms were assigned by the manager, after all. Seungcheol didn’t have any control over it. As soon as he realized he was rooming with Wonwoo Seungcheol’s stomach turned over on itself, nervous excitement tangling in his gut. 

It was already a done deal that something would happen, even if Seungcheol still wasn’t sure what that something was. 

That part resolved itself pretty quickly, as it turned out. “What” was Seungcheol pressing Wonwoo against the counter of their shared bathroom, that same sense of urgency overtaking him as their mouths came together, too desperate from the start. 

“What” was Wonwoo dropping to his knees in the bathroom, Seungcheol watching with wide eyes, so dazed it was almost like it was happening to someone else. 

“What” was Seungcheol urging Wonwoo back into the bedroom so he could return the favour, “what” was Seungcheol running his hand over one of Wonwoo’s reddened knees, afterward, and “what” was the way they kissed each other in the half-dark of the hotel room, filthy, neither of them having bothered to rinse their mouths. 

“What” was the way they fell asleep in their own beds, and didn’t talk about it the next day. 

Jeonghan’s eyes are sharp, focused on Seungcheol. The attention makes him itch, an added pressure Seungcheol doesn’t have the energy to handle. Seungcheol fights to keep his expression blank, knowing it’s a losing battle but putting the effort in anyway. 

That’s important, putting the effort in. Even if these days it’s getting harder and harder to remember why.

It’s stupid, but when Seungcheol drops the glass in the dorm that night it really does feel like the last straw. He’d been pulled taut already, stretched so thin that he was already spending all his time waiting for the snap. He knows he’s been a nightmare to be around — he’s twitchy all the time, snapping at everyone, even the smallest annoyances grating at his nerves. The problem is he doesn’t really know how to stop it.

He doesn’t know what to do about the glass, either, staring down at the kitchen floor with detached horror. His pulse is pounding so loudly in his ears that the first time someone calls his name he doesn’t even hear it. 

“—ngcheol?” 

Seungcheol looks up sharply to see Jeonghan standing in the entry of the dorm kitchen, eyebrows knit together in concern. 

“Sorry,” Seungcheol blurts out immediately. He looks crazy, he thinks, just standing here surrounded by glass. He must look so crazy. 

“It’s okay,” Jeonghan says slowly. Seungcheol can’t tell which one of them he’s trying to convince. “We can just clean it up.”

Seungcheol lets out a laugh that sounds, quite frankly, monstrous. He tries to cover it with a cough, but the attempt isn’t really much better. Jeonghan certainly doesn’t look convinced. 

Jeonghan edges into the kitchen, footsteps careful even though his feet are safe in his slippers, coming right up next to Seungcheol and peering to get a better look at his face. Seungcheol looks away, trying to dodge it. 

It’s fucked up to admit it, even to himself, but these days Seungcheol’s been avoiding looking at Jeonghan too closely. It feels too much like something he’ll have to deal with — something else he doesn’t have the energy for, or the expertise to handle properly. Another opportunity for Seungcheol to fuck up.

“I can get it,” Seungcheol says, voice hoarse, trying to nudge Jeonghan back out of the kitchen. It feels critical, suddenly, that Jeonghan stay away from the glass. He won’t be able to handle it if Jeonghan hurts himself — just thinking about it is making Seungcheol’s heart speed up again, a familiar thready rhythm in his chest. 

“Yah, don’t be stupid,” Jeonghan says immediately, not letting himself be nudged. Seungcheol wasn’t really pushing very hard, anyway. “Do we have a dustpan?”

Seungcheol stares at him blankly. 

“Right,” Jeonghan says with a quiet laugh. He reaches for the garbage can instead, dragging it closer and dropping to his haunches. “We can just use our hands, I guess.”

“Careful,” Seungcheol rasps, dropping to a crouch to gingerly pick up the biggest pieces. “I said I could get it.”

Jeonghan just tuts, reaching for a piece Seungcheol missed. It’s quiet for a moment, their hands brushing as they make quick work of the glass. When they’re finished Seungcheol straightens, settling back onto his heels with a sigh.

“Now what,” he says, staring at the tiny shards still scattered across the tile. 

Jeonghan lets out a helpless little laugh and Seungcheol looks up at him, finally. He was right to look away before, he thinks. This close, Jeonghan looks terrible — bags under his eyes, cheekbones scooped out and hollow.

“Paper, maybe?” Jeonghan says after a moment. 

It’s stupid, and weirdly depressing — if they were at the company building Seungcheol would know exactly where the broom was, but he doesn’t know where to find it in his own house. 

“There’s gotta be — ” Seungcheol turns behind him, reaching to open the cabinet under the sink. He squints, trying to make out the its contents, but all he can see is plastic bags. He lets the door close, muttering a curse under his breath, almost missing the sound of someone else approaching the kitchen.

“Hyung?” 

Seungcheol closes his eyes.

It’s Wonwoo’s voice, of course, and that’s — that’s great. That’s exactly what he needs right now. Seungcheol takes in a deep breath, still facing the sink, before he turns around, trying to plaster a neutral expression onto his face.

“Is everything okay?” Wonwoo asks, which is a fair question — Seungcheol and Jeonghan are both still squatting on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken glass and also a trashcan. 

Jeonghan snorts, gesturing vaguely at the tableau, and Wonwoo makes a funny little self-deprecating face in response.

“Do you want me to get the broom?” he asks. 

“ _Please_ ,” Jeonghan says immediately, a real edge to his voice. “My knees are killing me.”

Wonwoo nods once, and then disappears again. Seungcheol wonders vaguely how _he_ knows where the broom is, too dazed to let himself focus on the rest of it. 

When Wonwoo comes back with it Jeonghan shoos him off before he can help, reaching for the broom with grabby little hands and reassuring Wonwoo that they’re fine, really, no, _really_ , they’re just going to clean this up and then go right to bed. Wonwoo frowns, not looking especially convinced, but he doesn’t push it, and Jeonghan and Seungcheol finish sweeping up the rest of the glass in silence.

“You know I have to ask you about it,” Jeonghan says, finally, snapping the dustpan back onto the broom handle and leaning it against the wall, apparently deeming that good enough.

“You know I have to tell you to fuck off,” Seungcheol says tiredly, no heat in his voice at all. Jeonghan snorts, clearly not offended, nudging the trashcan back to its corner. 

“Fair,” he sighs, leaning against the fridge to take a breath.

“You gonna be okay?” Seungcheol asks quietly. Jeonghan’s eyes flicker back open, looking over at Seungcheol with a dry smile on his face. 

“I have to be,” he says. Seungcheol tries to laugh in commiseration, but it sticks in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says, instead, and they both leave it there. 

Things seem to happen very quickly after that. They go on tour. Seungcheol leaves the tour. Jeonghan leaves the tour. Seungcheol spends a lot of time at his parents’ house, and a lot of time in therapy, and a lot of time trying to cultivate a “healthy mindset.” It feels like bullshit, honestly, but at this point Seungcheol is desperate enough to try almost anything, if it means slowing the constant panic in his chest. Dulling the self-loathing he can't seem to escape from.

And it does get better, weirdly. His therapist knows what she’s talking about, which Seungcheol guesses shouldn’t be a surprise.

He doesn’t tell her about Wonwoo, though. He can’t. He tells himself it isn’t the shame that keeps him quiet, that he needs to protect his group and his groupmates, but Seungcheol honestly isn’t sure if that’s true or not. All he knows is that every time he opens his mouth to try, the words die somewhere in the back of his throat. 

Mingyu sends a picture of him, at one point. In the picture Wonwoo’s smiling, fingers up in a V, and Seungcheol doesn’t know how to describe the way he feels when he looks at it. 

_hyung says he misses you!_ is Mingyu’s caption, and Seungcheol doesn’t know how he feels about that, either. He wonders if it’s true, or if Mingyu just made it up to be kind. That seems like something Mingyu would do.

Seungcheol misses Wonwoo but he doesn’t know what part of him he misses, is the problem. Does he miss the Wonwoo who’d commiserate with him, back when they first started and Mingyu and Hansol goofed around, back before Hansol grew up and Seungcheol stopped trying to pretend he had? Does he miss the Wonwoo who sent him cute text messages when Seungcheol paid for food? Does he miss the first man he ever slept with, who made him feel comfortable even though they were both so fucking nervous their hands shook, laughing awkwardly in the dark in a hotel in Malaysia?

All of it, maybe. Seungcheol doesn’t know.

He remembers waiting backstage at a music show, watching Seungkwan crawl all over Wonwoo where he was sitting on the couch, not paying attention to anything but his phone.

“Hyung doesn’t have any time for anyone,” Seungkwan had whined dramatically. “No love left to give.”

It was obviously untrue, which was the point of the joke. Wonwoo had looked up, then, but he hadn’t looked at Seungkwan. His gaze had gone straight to Seungcheol, a glimmer in his eye and a smile at the corner of his mouth. Seungcheol had snorted before he could help himself, glancing away immediately. 

Seungkwan had only whined harder at that, slapping at Wonwoo’s arm, oblivious to the real punch line. 

Seungcheol can only hope, now, that he never managed to figure it out. 

When Wonwoo slips into the practice room as Seungcheol’s cleaning it it’s almost a relief. Almost. It’s a good idea to clear the air, probably — they’re knee-deep in comeback preparations, and Seungcheol understands the impulse to make sure there’s nothing else that could tarnish this. To make sure things turn out okay. 

That doesn’t mean his stomach doesn’t still tighten with nerves, of course, his movements jerky as he wraps the cord around the vacuum before he stores it in the corner. He takes a moment before he turns to face Wonwoo, trying to brace himself.

Wonwoo has slid down to sit against the wall, close but not close enough to threaten. Seungcheol moves closer to sit next to him. 

For a long moment it’s quiet. Seungcheol looks at Wonwoo’s hands, clasped over his knees, posture so familiar it almost makes Seungcheol want to cry. He doesn’t understand why. 

“I’m sorry I messed everything up,” Seungcheol says, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Hyung,” Wonwoo says quietly, eyes flicking up to meet Seungcheol’s. “You never asked what I wanted.”

The nausea that washes over Seungcheol is so intense, so all-consuming that for a moment he thinks he might actually black out.

“No,” Wonwoo says, before Seungcheol can open his mouth — to say what, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think there’s anything _to_ say. “No, that’s not what — hyung. If I didn’t want it I would have said no.”

Wonwoo is known for his blank expression, for the way he keeps things inside. But he isn’t cold, never has been. All of them know that. The way he’s looking at Seungcheol now — eyes wide, expression earnest — isn’t cold.

“It wasn’t fair of me,” Seungcheol says, tearing his eyes away to stare at the floor instead. “I’m your leader, I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

Wonwoo pauses, taking that in. Seungcheol’s heart is beating so fast it hurts, a steady throb he can feel in his ears.

“You didn’t pressure me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Wonwoo says slowly. “I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“You do?” Seungcheol can’t help asking, needier than he wants to be. He’s always needier than he wants to be. 

“Of course I do.” Wonwoo frowns. “You’re not that kind of leader, hyung. You’re not that kind of person.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol says shakily.

“Hyung,” Wonwoo says, his frown growing deeper, voice low and serious. “You’re _not_.”

“I don’t — ” Seungcheol starts, cutting himself off with a swallow. He doesn’t know what to say next. Doesn’t know where the thought was headed. Wonwoo is still staring at him so seriously. 

“You knew that, right?” Wonwoo says, leaning in closer, trying to catch Seungcheol’s gaze until Seungcheol gives up evading him. 

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol whispers. His eyes are starting to sting, the humiliation on top of everything threatening to be the last straw. He closes them instead, and tries to force himself to breathe. 

“I didn’t — ” Wonwoo says, then stops. Seungcheol listens to him breathe in the silence, eyes still closed. “I didn’t know it upset you this badly. I would have stopped earlier.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Seungcheol says tiredly. 

“Neither did you.” Wonwoo’s response is immediate, his voice sure. Seungcheol blinks his eyes back open, turning to look at him. A little smile quirks at the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth, the face he makes when he wants Seungcheol to smile along with him. Like he’s just thought of a joke, but it’s only for the two of them.

It’s always made Seungcheol feel good, having Wonwoo look at him like that. 

“I don’t regret it,” Wonwoo says, and maybe it’s stupid, but it feels like forgiveness. 

Seungcheol forces himself to look back at Wonwoo, letting Wonwoo see whatever is on his face. He hopes it makes Wonwoo feel good, too.

“I don’t either,” he says, finally, and he does his best to mean it.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [title](https://youtu.be/O3tBYGXdPgk) / [twt](https://twitter.com/springnotspring)


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